Scars
by jade silvertounge
Summary: What is it like, being pushed back into another world? When the only thing you have left to remember your home is the scars that your child's body carries? Told in different POVs—read and review!
1. Mirrors

**Author's Note:** There's something about the Chronicles of Narnia that seems to inspire sappy family fics. But don't worry- this is just the beginning. I'm hoping to incorporate the family (namely, their father) in finding out about the scars, and reactions. I just hope I got the characters right!

**Summary**: What is it like, being pushed back into another world? When the only thing you have left to remember your home is the scars that your child's body carries? Told in different POVs—read and review!

**Scars (Chapter 1, Mirrors)**

He could not stop staring at his hands. They were smooth, un-calloused, unmarred. No longer bearing the marks and remains of long hours practicing swordsmanship and honing battle skills, they instead spoke of time spent lazing about indoors. They were the hands of a child. Small, pale and weak. The rest of his body followed of course, but he could not help dwelling on his hands. The tools that he had trained for years now failed him in doing embarrassingly simple tasks. Even his dexterous mind, sharpened and perfected from dark nights spent pouring over legal codes and battle strategies, remembered less and less every day. He was almost used to seeing a small, thin, dark-haired boy staring at him out of the mirror. But still, he told himself firmly again and again, Narnia never left. He could see it in the stubborn lines of his baby-smooth jaw, in the grave look of empathy in his brown eyes.

Peter's eyes hadn't changed. His baby blue orbs still looked off towards adventures unknown, and his gaze still held the power to entrap all and any it captured. Susan's eyes still held their solemn gentleness, but Edmund could perceive an edge of pain hiding in the back. Lucy's, though often filled with the frustration and confusion of a six year-old child, still filled to the brim with joy and love for every person who crossed her path. One might think the innocence that shone forth was a result of her age, but those who truly knew her knew better. Her innocence came from the love of Aslan, and her childish wisdom held more truth than anyone knew. And Edmund himself—as he looked into the mirror, he saw. His eyes told the story, to those who would see, of redemption. Many of the adults who had visited Professor Kirke's house were unnerved by what they found in the child's thoughtful eyes—perhaps because they had not allowed themselves to accept what he had. Many adults did not see at all but merely looked at a small, unusually thoughtful ten-year old. Edmund watched all their expressions and smiled, not for the first time and certainly not the last. It seemed some things never changed or left, and they needn't always be scars to be reminders.


	2. Memories

**Author's Note:** So, this chapter is slightly angsty—but I figured Peter, the big brother, would most likely take his return (and the scars) harder than the rest of the Pevensies. Don't worry though—Edmund will set him straight, cuz Edmund is just amazing like that

**Summary**: What is it like, being pushed back into another world? When the only thing you have left to remember your home is the scars that your child's body carries? Told in different POVs—read and review!

**Scars (Chapter 1, Mirrors)**

Peter was never sure why Aslan had allowed the scars to remain. They certainly gave the Pevensies a way to remember, but Peter would have chosen almost any way other than this one. Because now, every time he caught a glimpse of a red puckered line on Edmund's back, he thought of the assassination attempt he had failed to see in time. Whenever the sleeve of Lucy's too- big dress fell down to reveal a small white scar, Peter looked away in shame, remembering how he had failed to push his sister out of the arrow's path. And every time he saw Susan put her hand on her heart, he remembered the ambassador from Calormen who had them all fooled. Aslan did not blame him, and in his heart Peter knew that only Aslan was given the right to judge, but the Magnificent could not help judging himself. Why the scars? Why must he remember every sad occasion instead of the happy times? Was this way of remembering even better than forgetting? He had failed his siblings so many times…

But he could not leave them now. No matter how much it pained him to see the dark scars of their child bodies. Thankfully, it was easy to keep these reminders hidden. No adult saw the scars borne so gracefully by these children. Not even Professor Kirke saw the scars, though Peter was sure he suspected. So it seemed only Peter was left to see and remember.

**I know this is a short chapter, but they'll grow longer. I kind of like the one-shot feel, but it turns into a story. Please read and review!**


	3. Conversations

**Author's Note: **So, I saw in my e-mail that people were starting to favorite my story…Yay! That means more _reviews…_(hint, hint). So I decided to update, since I have more than one chapter to post. This one actually involves conversations!

**Summary: **What is it like, being pushed back into another world? When the only thing you have left to remember your home is the scars that your child's body carries? Told in different POVs—read and review!

**Scars (Chapter 3, Conversations)**

Edmund had known for years that Peter was an idiot. Unhappily, it was a trait that hadn't changed, no matter how old (or young) he became. The reason Peter was an idiot (this time) was answered easily by the guilt shining freely in his eyes. He blamed himself. He had always blamed himself for any mishap- after all, he was the older brother, the High King, the Magnificent.

Aslan should have added 'noble idiot' to his titles. Peter never seemed to realize that just because he should have stopped it did not mean he could have. Edmund saw it clearly—Peter blamed himself for every blemish and scar that marred his siblings' skin. This was why Edmund was now marching towards his brother with a look in his eyes that would have sent soldiers, (enemy or otherwise) scattering in the opposite direction.

Peter, for once, was too lost in his own thoughts to take warning from the expression on his younger brother's face. As it was, he had a split-second to register a dark-haired form striding towards him before a pair of chocolate brown eyes met his own and held him there. The High-King looked guiltily into his brother's blazing eyes, and made a feeble attempt to diminish the tension.

"If your eyebrows furrow anymore, they'll get stuck that way," he said, raising his own eyebrows. His younger brother abruptly sat down next to him on the window seat, still glaring fiercely.

"Stop it."

The words hung in the air between the two boys, and Peter sighed, waiting for the inevitable lecture to come. There had been too many scenes like this throughout the years. He should have known that becoming children again would not make Edmund lose his perceptiveness. He had been perceptive before Narnia, but chose to ignore what he saw back then.

"Aslan left us these scars for a reason, you know."

Peter almost immediately lost control of his carefully reigned in temper.

"Why?" he asked bitterly. "I look at you, and all I remember is the bad. Even as the clearer memories of Narnia itself fades, I still see every wound on your bodies!"

Edmund remained silent throughout the entire tirade and continued to stare steadfastly out the window. He had cornered his brother with the sole purpose of giving him a sound talking too, but now he found he could not bring himself to do it. He too was asking why, for a different reason. But for Peter's sake, he pushed forward.

"What do you think of when you see these scars?"

The question startled Peter. He would have thought it was obvious. "I see all of you, bleeding. I see every time I failed to protect my siblings, and my people."

"That's not what I see."

Edmund ceased his staring out the window and looked straight at his brother. His eyes shone with a mixture of sadness and hope, and Peter found himself wishing for whatever comfort his brother had found.

"I see all of us together. I see every creature in Narnia united in prayer for their injured monarch. I can feel our love and will and smell the warm refreshing scent of Aslan's breath. I see the scars, but how many times has Aslan reminded us? They will fade. I fervently believe we will all end up safe and whole in Aslan's country, where scars are no longer needed. But for now, they remind us of the love and strength and fortitude the four of us together. And they remind me," Edmund lifted his hand and placed it on Peter's chest directly on top of the scar left when an arrow pierced the High King, "of a brother who would die for me, he loves me so much."

Edmund's face held only gentleness and peace as he looked on his older brother. His small frail arm bridged the gap between the two kings, and his small hand still rested just above his brother's heart. Peter grasped his brother's arm tightly, unable to speak as he remembered that fateful day he took an arrow for his brother.

"I would still die for you. The only scars I don't regret are my own." Peter's voice came out huskier than he intended.

"Do you think we regret ours?" The light, bell-like voice of Lucy was the last thing Peter had expected to hear and Peter turned with a small start. His younger sister stood with her hands on her hips and her head cocked to the side. The expression on her face was anything but childlike, and the sun gleamed in her golden-blonde hair.

The Valiant… Lucy was still the most… herself out of all the siblings. She was their light, their guide, and if Peter admitted it to himself, she was their reminder that Aslan was still with them. His light shone daily from her eyes. Even now her eyes shone with the light of Aslan, just as Susan's now shone with a hint of tears. Lucy pushed herself onto Peter's lap and snuggled against her older brother. "I know Aslan will always protect us. And you should know that too."

Peter smiled at the sternness in Lucy' voice and reached out, grasping Edmund's thing wrist and pulling him close. Susan gracefully settled on the window seat and pulled Lucy's head onto her lap so the six year old was stretched across the older siblings. "Remember what Aslan always told us?" Susan said softly. "Take courage, dear ones, for my will is done."

**Please review! I want to know if the characters are how you imagined them, if my grammar is alright… Review!**


	4. Homecomings

**Author's Note: **This chapter is a little longer, because I did not want my lovely readers to have to sort through fifty chapters that are each a page long….:) This chapter actually introduces a plot, but it doesn't involve any angst—more gentle family humor. I didn't know if I should start hinting at what happens with Susan, but I sort of did anyways—don't be mad!

**Summary: **What is it like, being pushed back into another world? When the only thing you have left to remember your home is the scars that your child's body carries? Told in different POVs—read and review!

**Scars (Chapter 4, Homecomings)**

They were home! Aslan be praised, they were home. It was nothing close to Narnia, but it still held that wonderful warm familiarity that Susan so loved. And, now that they were home, perhaps things could be normal once again. They had a second chance—at life, at growing up, and Susan was not going to waste this chance. She was sure that none of her siblings would waste it either. And so she walked quietly on the worn wooden floors of her home, and decided that today she would make tea before breakfast. There was a wonderful recipe by the badgers that Susan had loved to make before the Kings went to battle, and it was especially appropriate today, as their father was coming home. And besides, if she wanted to re-start her adult life, it was best to start now.

As the smell of tea drifted into the bedrooms, Peter awoke to the smell of Narnia. For a moment, he was confused. Why was he lying on such uncomfortable linens? And why did his body feel so…odd? Cautiously, he opened his eyes and saw the ceiling of his bedroom in Finchley. Disappointment swept through him as he carefully sat up. It was just a dream—but then why could he still smell his favorite tea? The answer pierced him like a ray of sunlight. Susan! She was back to normal, back to the gentle, mothering woman they all knew her to be. It was the only answer. He dressed quickly and raced down the stairs with a smile on his face. Edmund, Lucy, and Susan were all sitting in the dining room, talking animatedly about Lucy's favorite dance (from Narnia of course) and what step came next.

"Nay, it was a jump first, and then you threw the snowball!" Edmund was arguing fiercely, but there was a smile in his eyes.

Lucy sighed in exasperation. "Only the fauns jumped—and they always jumped first!"

Peter smiled at the familiar scene. _Thank you Aslan._

"By Aslan, Susan, you sure know how to make one feel better!"

All three looked up at the sound of the High King's voice, but Peter waved them back to their conversation. Susan arose, and with a small smile she gently handed Peter a cup of tea accompanied by a small curtsy, and Peter took it with an odd sense of ceremony. He took a deep draught of the fragrant tea and sat unconsciously at the head of the table, Edmund on his right and Susan on his left, with Lucy dancing around the table, trying to imitate a dryad she had once seen. The smell of the lovingly made tea had refreshed everyone, as it had done many times in the past, and for that Peter was inordinately thankful.

A wide-awake Helen poked her head into the dining room. "Goodness children, what are you doing up this early?" she asked good-naturedly. Lucy twirled over to her mother and grasped her hand eagerly, pulling her forward. "Mother, can't you smell? Susan made her tea for us!"

"Indeed, it smells wonderful, though I don't remember giving anyone permission to use the stove-top while I was sleeping."

Susan looked crestfallen, and Peter hastened to reassure his sister and mother. "Susan is perfectly fine, Mother. She spent the entire… summer in the kitchens of the Professor's house. She is one of the best cooks I have ever known."

Susan blushed a bit, and looked at her folded hands resting on her lap.

"Upon my word, you spent an _entire _summer cooking!" Helen exclaimed, not looking the least bit alarmed.

"Not the entire summer. We did do most things together, and it wasn't always cooking."

_Courtiers, assassinations, battles, wars, riding through a brown and green forest and dancing with dryads…_

"I'm glad you earned a new skill this summer, my dear." Helen planted a fond kiss on Susan's forehead. "Now, will you fetch me a cup of this tea? It smells wonderful." Susan smiled slightly at the praise, and left the room. Peter quickly stood and allowed his mother to sit at the head of the table. A dark head nodded almost imperceptibly at the move, but the blond-haired king ignored the movement as he sat down.

Susan walked into the room once more, nearly running into Lucy as she spun about the room. Susan wobbled backwards with a small cry, nearly spilling the hot tea on herself.

"Susan!"

She steadied herself with her usual grace, and leveled her cool gaze on the boys. "I am fine, brothers."

Peter, who had been halfway out of his seat, sat down sheepishly, but Edmund continued forward to Lucy. "Careful next time, little sis. Remember—no dancing around anything easily breakable," he said gently.

Lucy blushed fiercely at the not-so subtle reminder of her numerous mishaps in Narnia. She would be practicing a new dance the fauns had made up, and a vase intended for the Terebinthian ambassador would be smashed, the tray of breakfast would end up on the floor, or (one time) a suit of armor would topple over. It wasn't that she was not graceful—she would simply not pay attention to anything else when something absorbed her.

"Come, let's sit."

Within moments, the siblings were chatting as cheerfully as they had before, with the only change being where they sat. Helen watched this new family dynamic with interest but was soon distracted by the cooling tea sitting in front of her. Taking a cautious sip, she froze. A surge of new strength made its way through her limbs. Long lost memories of a too-short childhood scrambled and pushed their way to the front of her mind. She remembered her husband's touch, childish fantasies, and the faint sound of a hymn. Opening her eyes, she felt a light peace settle over her as the stress of the war fell off her shoulders. Her husband was coming home…

Her eldest daughter, still no more than twelve, was gazing at her with the oddest look in her eyes. If Susan had been an adult, Helen would have said that it was a mixture of empathy and satisfaction at a job well done.

But it could not be empathy. Susan was far too young to know what Helen went through every day her husband was gone, and how precious this moment of peace was to her.

"What is in this tea?" Distracting herself.

Knowing smiles were exchanged, and Helen was taken aback. Susan answered. "It's a secret recipe—if I told you, the magic wouldn't work." There was amusement in Susan's voice, but a half-truth hid there. Helen decided to drop the subject.

"Are you excited for you father to come home? I know he can't wait to see you—he's been writing for weeks."

Peter looked rather serious for a moment. "I'm just glad he is home safe."

Again, Helen saw that flash of empathy, only this time it shone in the eyes of all her children, even little Lucy. She was sure she had imagined it though, as the mood grew cheerful again within seconds.

Lucy was grinning infectiously. "We should make him a welcome home sign! And Susan can make a special dinner to go along with the tea and I can teach you my favorite dance and…"

Edmund laughed suddenly, his dark face transforming. "Of course, Lu. We must keep to tradition."

Lucy smiled with pride and began to bounce on her toes. "Then we must start now!"

"Alright!" Peter laughed. Lucy ran over to grasp Peter's hand and pull him to his feet, and within moments the dining room had been successfully vacated, leaving behind only half-empty cups of tea and a rather bemused Helen. It seemed they were indeed excited.

Then came a soft call from upstairs. "No Lu, we cannot use our bedsheets for the sign!" Rather alarmed, Helen decided it would be best to follow her children out.

**Please review! I want to know what you liked and if you hate the fact that I am introducing a plot! Review!...And to everyone who has reviewed, you don't count- I love you too much to yell at you!**


	5. Mr Pevensie's Children

**Author's Note: **The end of this chapter was so much fun to write! I got a little bit carried away… but just blame my Muse. She seems to like humorous family scenes. This chapter starts out in the POV of Colin Pevensie, the children's father, and I'm trying to show similarities between him and his sons.

**Summary: **What is it like, being pushed back into another world? When the only thing you have left to remember your home is the scars that your child's body carries? Told in different POVs—read and review!

**Scars (Chapter 5, Mr. Pevensie's Family)**

He was coming home. After _years_ in the trenches, after war and stench and filth and grime—he would sleep in his own bed tonight. He would reunite with his beautiful wife, and see his children again. Apparently, now they were quite grown up, according to Helen. War made everyone grow—whether they wished to or not. But still, for the thousandth time he thanked the Lord that his children were safe, that his wife was waiting for him, and he had something beautiful to return to after such a long fight.

Little did he know that his sons had often thought something similar, in a different world and a different time.

The sun shone gaily as the cab approached his home. It was small, but exactly how he remembered it—a safe haven in dark times. He breathed deep as he left the cab and tipped the driver, self-consciously adjusting his uniform. His sons had idolized him before he left, so he would do his best to live up to their expectations. He would never tell them of dead comrades and mustard gas, but instead glorified visions of a war fought and won. And perhaps things could be normal once more.

He quietly opened the door, hoping to surprise his children. They knew he was coming, though. A few moments earlier Peter had picked up the sound of an automobile outside, and they had quickly and excitedly rearranged themselves into the scene that Mr. Pevensie now walked into. A large sign, seemingly made out of old bedsheets hastily sewn together and proclaiming cheerfully 'Welcome Home!' was draped across the sitting room.

Warm smells, jarringly unlike the scent of smoke that had clung to his nostrils, drifted through the entire home. And his family stood to the right of the sign, beaming at him. A sense of peace filled the war-weary man, and he dropped his luggage on the floor with a relieved smile on his face.

Lucy detached herself from the group and flew at her father, hugging him tightly. Within moments, everyone, even Susan and Edmund who had been 'too grown up ' for hugs when he had left, attached themselves to him. He laughed jovially, finally feeling complete as he hugged his children. He was finally home.

Peter watched his father. He knew Edmund did the same. They could see the lines of stress crossing his face, and the smiles that still held an edge of pain to them. Peter knew-his father had seen too much of war. Peter and Edmund had arrived home many times in this state, and the only relief was home. The love and acceptance their family and subjects showed, the refreshingly normal feasts and rides—they were the only cure for the world-weary. They gave hope and life back to the warriors. But it needed to happen gently—their father could not just be thrown back into normal life—he needed to be eased into reality until the memories gradually faded. The girls knew this the best, and treated their father with a loving wariness, allowing him to see them before they approached, letting him know that they loved him, and would be there when needed. And every day Peter could see more and more clouds fall from his father. Every day he stood straighter, and when he drank Susan's tea once more, many lines that crossed his face disappeared and did not return.

Finally, one day Peter and Edmund judged that the time was right to have fun. It took quite a bit of coercing, but finally the entire family ended up having a picnic by river perfect for swimming in. Lucy still could not swim, a fact that disappointed her greatly, as she had loved to swim in Narnia, but the water was shallow enough in places that even Lucy's feet could touch the bottom. But for now, they ate the dinner Helen had packed and talked casually about normal things.

"What did you do this summer?"

"The usual—we played cricket, explored the professor's house, learned some new skills. We even played hide and seek on particularly damp days."

Lucy laughed. "My favorite game! I had the perfect hiding spot- it was a completely different world, but when I was there, no time passed in this world. So Peter found me rather easily. It made me quite angry."

The Pevensies all chuckled at little Lucy's imagination and her grown-up way of phrasing things, and Peter decided that now was the best time to teach his father to play again. "Hey Edmund," he said casually, leaning back towards the river.

"Yes?" Edmund said, glancing at his older brother just in time to catch a spray of water straight in his face.

Mr. and Mrs. Pevensie fell silent, remembering the fights the brothers had just this spring. But to their surprise, after spluttering a bit, Edmund grinned. "You'll never win this one," he said menacingly, and proceeded to push his brother into the river.

There was a loud cry of surprise followed by a splash and then Peter resurfaced. "By Aslan, I'll get you for that!" he cried, and made a grab for his brother's ankles.

"Boys," said Helen and Susan reprovingly. Colin Pevensie merely laughed at his sons' antics, and Peter and Edmund saw their chance. Edmund's small form crashed into his father, pushing him towards the river, where Peter awaited to pull him in. With a loud laugh, their father joined Peter in the water, and Edmund followed with a loud whoop. By then, even Susan and Helen were laughing along with them, and Lucy was trying to pull her shoes off as fast as she could to join them.

"Daddy, catch me!" she cried from the banks of the river. He obediently held open his arms and she leaped into the water without fear.

"You should be able to touch the bottom," Colin said to his young daughter. "But if you are scared, you may hold on to me."

"I'm not scared Daddy" Lucy said with the utmost of confidence. "You or Peter or Ed will take care of me."

Peter saw his father's face brighten at the implicit faith Lucy showed in her family, and he smiled. Healing was coming—for all of them. Edmund swam towards the shore in the deeper part of the river and called to Susan. "Come on Su—don't you want to swim? It could be just like this summer…" Susan frowned and pursed her lips, thinking. "Come on Su!" Peter cried.

But it was Lucy who finally decided it for Susan. No one had ever been able to refuse the Valiant Queen anything. "Susan, please?" With a small sigh and a hint of a smile on her face, Susan gathered her skirts and leaped into the river until Helen was the only one outside, laughing at the antics of her family. Despite their newfound maturity, they all seemed to enjoy moments like this more than ever. Even Susan, who focused more on being grown-up than anything else.

It soon became a full war, with their father and Lucy on one team against Peter, Susan and Edmund. They whipped water at each other with peals of laughter, and Lucy sat on her father's shoulders, giggling happily. When Edmund accidently 'missed' and hit Peter, he was tackled underwater, protesting his innocence the entire time. "Really, I missed—right Susan?"

Susan was smart enough to stay out of the way as the boys rolled in the water.

"A miss—I'd sooner believe Orieus would drop his sword than you are telling the truth!" Peter pushed his little brother into the water again.

Edmund resurfaced, laughing too hard to respond, and Peter helped pull him to his feet. Lucy ran over to Susan, splashing through the water and thoroughly soaking her older sister. Susan didn't mind though—there was a glint of mischief in her eyes. She bent over and whispered quietly in Lucy's ear. The youngest sibling wandered casually over to her two older brothers as the picture of innocence. "Hey Pete?" she asked, cocking her head to the side. Both brothers turned to Lucy. "What's up, Lu?" Peter asked.

"This."

Susan tackled them from behind, bringing both her brothers down. Lucy ran over and sat on top of Peter. "We win!" she announced happily. Susan sat on Edmund's chest as he tried feebly to push her off. Colin strode towards his children, feeling happier than he had in years. It was as though every wound the family had was healed within the past few months. Whatever had happened between the siblings that caused them to interact like this was exactly what they had needed. And Colin was more than thankful. "I win," he announced, pulling his daughters into his arms. They sat in the river for a few more minutes, enjoying their moment of peace as a family.

Peter leaned back against his father, thinking idly of giants and centaurs and arrows flying through the air… he wondered what his father thought of when he thought about war. This war was obviously very different—firstly, he could not see those he killed. It was a war of guns, not swords and arrows. And he was killing other humans, something Peter and Edmund had always done their best to avoid. But some things would have been exactly the same—he would have had to watch his friends die, and live in the horror and grime of a siege. Peter just hoped that his father would heal. There had been times that the High King was unsure if he would ever be able to enjoy 'normalcy' again. It was only the love of Aslan that had pulled him, (and many times, Edmund) through their nightmares. Even now they still left scars that only Aslan could completely erase. And his father did not even have the added comfort of knowing Him. But maybe he would one day…

Edmund was watching both his father and his older brother as they sat and thought. He knew Peter was smart enough not to dwell too much… but he still worried. His father and older brother both had the same temperament—they could not easily cast aside that which ailed them. But he could see them both allowing themselves to heal, and that was the first step. So Edmund floated gently along the river, the only one with a 'reason' to be haunted, and the only one to not dwell on his past. Aslan had taken care of that.

When the family finally decided to come out of the river, their mother looked at them with a disapproving eye. "You are all soaked to the skin! You'll catch your death of cold if you do not dry!"

Peter laughed as he pulled a dripping Susan onto the riverbank. "We will dry. Though it is a bit chilly for this time of year." And so it was a cold and wet (though happy) family that made their way home.

**Please review! (Thanks if you already have!) I have never been a father (and never will be, cuz I'm a girl ) so if you have any hints to help with the whole 'fatherly love' bit, it would be much appreciated.**


	6. Revelations

**Author's Note: **I think I was kind of in a bad mood when I wrote this, so it was a bit more angst-y then I usually like to write. (Somehow my characters end up at the receiving end of my anger…sorry!) So I revised this chapter heavily, and would like to know what you think!

**Summary: **What is it like, being pushed back into another world? When the only thing you have left to remember your home is the scars that your child's body carries? Told in different POVs—read and review!

**Scars (Chapter 6, Revelations)**

By the time they came to the house, their clothes were still wet, and Helen immediately sent Susan and Lucy upstairs for a hot bath, than surveyed the remaining children. Peter and Edmund ran through the backyard while their father watched in amusement.

Well, there was no stopping it—the house would have to get wet, Helen thought. Edmund sneezed proving her point. They needed to come inside before they caught sick.

"Come into the house," Helen called to the menfolk. They galloped inside and stood in the kitchen, not looking the least bit uncomfortable in their wet clothes. All except Edmund.

"By Aslan, Peter," he said crossly. "You know how I hate getting cold and wet. Remember the Frostlands?"

Peter rolled his eyes at his younger brother. "That was ages ago! And besides, it was completely not my fault. Even Oreius agreed."

Colin cleared his throat, not understanding their conversation in the slightest (what was Aslan? And who was Oreius?) but knowing there would be an argument to come. His sons turned towards the noise with surprise on their faces. It was as though they had forgotten he was there. Out of the corner of his eye, Colin saw Peter's fist clench involuntarily, and was surprised at their reaction. It was almost as though they were on alert for any threat- he could remember men in the trenches who would jump at any noise, even a sneeze.

But the fist loosened, and Peter grinned sheepishly at his father. "Sorry," he said, nudging Edmund with his elbow. This time, Edmund rolled his eyes. "Sorry."

Helen walked into the kitchen, carrying an armful of towels. "Change and dry off in your room," she said briskly. The three men obeyed, and Peter and Edmund walked into their shared room.

"I think it has started," Edmund said quietly.

"What has?"

"His healing. Even our healing, if you would name our adjustment to becoming children again a healing process."

Peter smiled. "This healing process was started when we first stepped into Narnia. We just needed to find a way to transfer it here."

Edmund's eyes sparkled. "Only Aslan can make all things new, and it feels as though He is still here, even if we do not see Him."

Peter pulled on his shirt and grasped his brother's forearm to pull him closer. "Lucy would say that He is always here."

"It would be true."

Edmund pulled out of his brother's grasp, looking bothered for a brief moment. "Peter, where is my shirt?"

Peter looked surprised at this abrupt shift in the conversation. "I have no idea—perhaps mother gave it to father on accident."

A soft knock sounded on the door. "Edmund—I think I have you shirt," their father called. Peter raised his eyebrows. "See?"

Edmund sighed in exasperation. "Go open the door!" he whispered fiercely to Peter.

"Why?"

"I'm not wearing a shirt, you idiot! He'll see my scars!"

"Oh!' Peter moved quickly towards the door just as the handle began to turn. Edmund scrambled for something to cover his bare chest as their father opened the door. He pulled the sheet from his bed up to his chin, still unable to cover the small white lines that criss-crossed his legs—whip marks from an annoyed dwarf. _The witch's work, _he thought distastefully. He could only hope that their father could not see the scars in the darkness of the boy's bedroom. Peter quickly stepped in front of his father, blocking Edmund from view.

Colin was interested. His boys were acting so curious lately. For example, Peter was standing in front of his brother, almost protectively, shielding him from view.

"Peter?" he asked. "What…" And then he saw Edmund, shirtless, looking warily out from behind Peter's shoulder, and all his questions fled.

In hindsight, he should have known. His children had changed—one would have to be blind not to see that. And he had, originally, accepted the change, even embraced the fact that his children showed affection for each other. The endless bickering had stopped, and all of his children showed flashes of joy and wisdom that Colin found himself wishing for. Whatever had changed them had done well and he had been sure of it.

But it never occurred to him that change was often violent—and in Edmund's case, it looked as though it had not been kind. His entire torso seemed to be a map of scars. Trails of white lines meandered across his chest, and random red lines dotted the landscape of his arms and torso. And these scars were old; they had been fully healed for a long, long time.

For a moment, nothing was said. Colin's gaze flickered helplessly between his two sons, one who looked at him defiantly and the other who held acceptance in his eyes. The former gently pushed his older brother out of the way, looking only at his father.

"Father I—"

"Edmund what—"

Colin leaned forward across the gap and grabbed Edmund's scarred wrist gently.

Edmund winced slightly and began to pull away from his father, who tightened his grip. Helplessly, Colin turned to his eldest. "Peter…?"

Peter simply sighed and looked down at the ground, shifting slightly back and forth. For some reason, this annoyed Edmund, who turned away from his father's gaze and glared at his older brother.

"Don't you dare try and say it's your fault, Peter. These were all by my choice, and by Aslan's will I lived through each and every adventure."

Edmund's voice was somewhat harsh but despite the anger it conveyed love.

"Father, let me go. We will explain in a moment."

There was a command in Edmund's voice, and Colin had to fight the instinctive desire to obey. For a moment, Edmund had sounded almost exactly like his old commanding officer.

"No. I will not let you go until you tell me what has happened that has caused…._this."_

Colin's voice came out sounding angrier than he intended it to, but the anger was not directed at his sons.

"Father…" Edmund said, his voice rising unconsciously. Peter swiftly broke free of his guilty reverie and moved between his brother and his father.

"Edmund, stop it. Father, let go please. I promise you, all will be explained."

Mr. Pevensie turned away from his son's gentle understanding and sat heavily on the floor, releasing Edmund's wrist. His mind spun in dozens of different directions, each scenario, from self-mutilation to bombs flying through his head. What had happened? The one thing he could not grasp was why the scars looked so old. They looked as though they had marred his son's body for years, but they had only been in the country for a few months!

"Edmund?" Susan's voice floated through the hallway. "Edmund, I heard you raise your voice. What is the matter? Is Peter being thick again?"

Peter cleared his throat, desperately trying to sound normal. "Why must you always assume it is me?"

A lighter voice came from the hallway, sounding as though it was coming closer. "Because we know you all too well, dear brother." Lucy sounded amused as she peeked her head into the still-dark room. She surveyed the scene in front of her, and her smile dimmed slightly. "Oh, Aslan," she whispered quietly, seeing her father sitting in shock on the floor, with Edmund standing shirtless in front of him. His scars really did look horrible, she mused to herself. Raising her voice, she called out "Susan!"

Susan was there in a moment with her lips pursed and her eyebrows drawn together. All she said was "Oh dear," before turning to Lucy and saying quietly "Perhaps you should get mother."

**Thanks for reading! I know this chapter was a bit shorter than the others because I couldn't really find a place to end it-which was rather annoying! I don't know when I'll update next-I'll try to make it as soon as possible. There's only about one or two chapters left! (Yay! I'll finally have a complete story!)**

**REVIEW! (*thanks ;) **


	7. Explanations

**Author's Note: **Sorry! This is one of the shortest chapters, but I felt the need to post and I feel as though the story is not quite finished yet. The next chapter will continue with a mini-explanation and continue with Helen and Colin's thoughts—possibly the last chapter, but I may decide to split it up. My Muse had kinda died on me—I can never seem to end anything! But by this weekend or the next, I promise I'll finish!

**Summary: **What is it like, being pushed back into another world? When the only thing you have left to remember your home is the scars that your child's body carries? Told in different POVs—read and review!

**Scars (Chapter 7, Explanations)**

Susan swept about the room, opening the shades and letting the late afternoon light in. It did nothing to make Edmund's scars look any better—in fact, they looked all the more gruesome in the daylight but Susan had decided that daylight would do them all good. None of the men had moved yet, but Peter broke off from the group and looked towards Susan. His eyes asked the question that Susan had no answer to—what should they tell their parents? They were logical people, but surely they would not believe that they had traveled to another world and reigned as king and queen for nearly fifteen years! Even Susan found it to be absurd!

When Lucy came back into the room with a worried Helen trailing behind, the unspoken question was immediately answered by the look on Lucy's face.

"I heard Him."

Lucy's eyes were shining fiercely, and she was beaming with joy. Her tone of voice left no doubt as to who He was. Peter crossed the room in two strides, a look of astonishment on his face. "You heard Him? _Here?_ What did he say!"

Lucy beamed again, and launched into full storytelling persona. "I was just fetching mother when I smelled it. It smelled like Susan's tea, only better! And I knew He was right next to me, but I didn't dare look. And then he spoke, and said in his horribly deep voice 'Tell them. I will take care of the rest.'"

Peter began to smile slightly and Edmund grinned at his father and mother, both of whom were looking (understandably) confused.

"For goodness sakes!" said Helen, somewhat irritably. "Who spoke to you? What is so important that Lucy nearly dragged me upstairs?"

Edmund, still shirtless, stepped into view for the first time, leaving Helen to gape in shock. "Perhaps we should go downstairs, so I may continue getting dressed?" he suggested. Peter nodded, and with surprising strength he pulled Colin to his feet and began to usher everyone out the door. Mr. Pevensie finally spoke as he left the room. "This had better be an extremely good explanation."

Lucy's voice responded. "It's a _beautiful _explanation. Well worth all our scars."

"_Your _scars?" Helen sounded somewhat faint.

"Of course. Edmund may get into trouble far more often than the rest of us, but that does not mean he got into _all _the trouble. Peter was particularly adept at causing problems." Susan sounded amused as they traveled to the sitting room.

Edmund quickly slipped the soft shirt over his head and followed his family down the stairs. His bare feet padded softly against the wood floor, and for a fleeting moment, Edmund was certain he could hear more than one set of feet padding softly beside him. There was no one by Edmunds side, but he found comfort in the soft sound of velvety paws, even if it was only imagined.

As the family assembled into the sitting room, Edmund took his customary seat to the right of Peter. In response, Peter gently but firmly placed his hand on Edmund's knee, lending unspoken support. Edmund automatically reciprocated the gesture by placing his hand on top of Peter's and squeezing fiercely.

Mr. Pevensie did not miss the gesture, nor did he miss the quiet affection Lucy showed as she leaned against Susan. However, he chose to ignore it, and instead ask the more pressing questions.

"What _happened_? What caused this…_change_?"

His voice came out far more accusing than he intended it to, and he did not miss Susan's reproving stare that was aimed in his direction. Not knowing what else to say, he cleared his throat uncomfortably as Helen placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Your father is just…fearful. Those scars did not come from a summer spent in the country –side. What have you not told us? What happened?" Helen's gentle voice, so much like Susan's, broke slightly towards the end, but she held her composure remarkably well.

To their parent's surprise, it was Lucy who answered the question. "Peter did not wish for you to worry. He wanted to protect you, as he has protected us for so many years. But we will not go against Aslan's will." She looked at her mother and father without a hint of sadness or fear, and when she spoke, her voice was full of the child-like wisdom she had carried all her life.

"Besides," Susan said quite sensibly. "You should be grateful that our scars are only physical."

That caused both Mr. and Mrs. Pevensie to pause for a moment, slightly horror-struck.

Peter had been silent this entire time, but as Susan finished speaking, he stood up, slowly and carefully. His presence immediately commanded attention, despite his still youthful look.

"How to begin?" he said softly, more to himself than anyone nearby.

**Thanks for reading! There won't be any big explanation, just reactions in the next chapter- I didn't really want to spend an entire chapter just summarizing. I'm loving all the reviews! (It makes me feel liked :))**

**Keep reviewing! **


	8. Endings and Beginnings

**Author's Note: **Finished! I can't believe it! You would not believe how nice it feels to close something out! This chapter gets a lot more spiritual than my last few, but that was what C.S. Lewis meant his books to be. Hope you like the ending, and it doesn't let you down!

P.S.—OldFashionedGirl95, the beginning is for you!

P.P.S—Here we go…

**Summary: **What is it like, being pushed back into another world? When the only thing you have left to remember your home is the scars that your child's body carries? Told in different POVs—read and review!

**Scars (Chapter 8, Endings and Beginnings)**

Peter's hands were tracing intricate patterns at the hem of his shirt while he fumbled with his words.

Finally, he took a deep cleansing breath, and when his eyes opened once more, they were not the eyes of a child, but of an adult.

"Father, Mother…"

As he addressed them, his tone was gentle, but his next words were firm and unyielding.

"We are not the same children we once were. In fact, though we may look it, we are not children at all."

Helen opened her mouth to speak, but shut it just as quickly as Peter leveled his calm gaze on her. If Mr. and Mrs. Pevensie ever need proof that what Peter said was true, they could see it written on their children's faces, carved into their skin.

"Our adventure begins when Lucy finds a wardrobe in a spare room…"

"…. And then we found the lamppost once more, and it seemed Aslan had more use for us here, as we found ourselves in a spare room with the bodies of children. And in that moment, we remembered our lives here, and all that had been forgotten, though we were still left with the memories of our beloved Narnia."

Peter had shifted easily into his usual manner of telling stories (which usually meant a great deal of pacing and hand-gestures), but upon conclusion he sat down rather abruptly next to Edmund.

Edmund himself looked more at ease than anyone in the room, and so it was he who spoke next. "The healing process had already started, and Aslan Himself has put it in motion. There was more than one reason why we were sent to Narnia, and though it may sound ridiculous, perhaps He sent us back to help you, father, and the rest of us as well."

Helen was astonished, to say the least. One look at her husband showed that he too was bewildered in more than one way. This story was fantastic and completely impossible! Her children could not have traveled to another world and lived entire lives there—it was completely illogical, to say the least.

But the easy confidence her children displayed spoke of the truth, and the awe they displayed when they spoke of this Aslan made Helen think, inexplicably of her mother. Until the day she died, her mother had the same light in her eyes that shone freely from Helen's own children, and even on her deathbed she had praised the name Jesus Christ. Peter lingered over the name of Aslan just as her grandmother's lips had formed the name of Jesus.

Perhaps…perhaps she shouldn't automatically dismiss this story. But what if it was true? If anything, not believing in the story was so much easier, because then Helen would not have to know what her children had gone through without her.

Colin could see his wife thinking deeply beside him, but Edmund's last words startled him out of his own reverie. "…perhaps He sent us back to help you, father…"

From what his children had described, if this Aslan character was real, it certainly sounded like something he would do. Doubtless, he could use help, and the aged looks on his son's faces told him that they could provide that comfort, if he allowed them to.

And when he searched his heart, he found he was surprisingly willing. Willing to let his sons and daughters help him heal, willing even to believe this story. The thought of another world, for him, was no different than the miracles he had so fervently believed in as a child. Colin could almost hear his father's warm, rich voice as he read the stories they both loved so. Somehow, he had forgotten the friends of his past—Elijah, Elisha, Jesus.

The trenches, in their own awful way, had reminded him of all he left behind in the past. Perhaps this was the push he needed—the push to leave war and filth of the trenches behind and embrace the good he had forgotten.

The children watched their silent parents carefully, but without fear or uneasiness. Edmund had somehow ended up leaning against Peter, and as soon as Peter had sat down, Lucy had crawled on his lap. Susan sat slightly off to the side, looking the most anxious out of them all, until Peter held out his hand and drew her close.

Finally, shifted positions. He leaned towards his wife, and with a quick display of affection his lips brushed across her cheeks. Helen closed her eyes momentarily, and when they opened they were clearer than before.

"Thank you."

Helen surprised herself by saying these words, but they were true.

"Thank you for trusting us with this knowledge," Colin finished, answering his children's bemused looks.

He glanced out quickly at the darkening sky and made up his mind.

"Children, your mother and I need some time to talk. I suppose you can put yourselves to bed?"

His voice shook slightly as he finished his question, but Helen clasped his hand gently.

Peter nodded, scooping up the tired-looking Lucy and heading for the stairs. Edmund and Susan followed, but Mr. Pevensie stopped them with a hopeful look on his face. "Susan, would you mind making your tea for Peter, Edmund, and I tomorrow morning?"

A brilliant smile crossed Susan's face. "Of course."

The moon rose to find Mr. and Mrs. Pevensie crouched over a worn, leather-bound Bible. Colin was reading softly aloud, and Helen had closed her eyes to listen.

There was a comfortable pause before Helen spoke once more.

"Do you think we should tell them?" she asked quietly.

Colin leaned back, gently shutting the Bible. "I think He will let them know who He is when it is time. For now, our job is to push them in the right direction."

Helen snuggled against her husband, breathing in his scent as she had not done since the start of the war. "And maybe we will all begin to heal."

Colin kissed the top of Helen's head. "Come, it is time for bed."

As they settled into bed and their breathing settled into the even tones of sleep, another sound could be heard, if one listened hard enough. It was the soft sound of heavy paws padding slowly through the house, and pausing momentarily in each room. Old aches and pains faded away as a sweet smell drifted through their home.

And the Pevensies slept peacefully for the rest of the night, until the dawn.

_**Fin**_


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